Sadly, it sang, the trumpet’s sound
Was the silence, the sorrow hanged
In the air, before it so abruptly fell
Upon the ground, upon us both, through her pursed lips
Rang of wretched bleakness, the death knell

What betrayal, what horror, what psychic sound
That which is known, but never spoken for
god knows the nature of a coward’s lips
How they’ve not found ability for speech
For avoidance, for her name from my mind’s vindictive crypt

Is it even so, a lone thought?
Repercussion, there’s no way I could ever know
Of her knowledge for the fact that I care
The fact that I sought, for hope, was given
Pain, and I was treated so anti-socially unfair

So sayeth loud, the trumpet’s sound
So sayeth you, I hope you’re proud
Of how you speak without noise, cut without blades
Monolithic, profound was my image of you
Lo how quickly, in a week, it fades.